Jonathon shouts after him, “Trust me, it’s easier if you don’t believe in God!”
Outside the stable Ollie dusts himself off. The sun is setting and people are starting to migrate toward the tabernacle tent for the great Gordon Cranston show. Still breathing hard, Ollie wonders at his own behavior. What was it that set him off like that? Jonathon’s insubordination? The ambush of accusations? Perhaps the insult to a lady’s honor?
What is certain is that his emotions are careening recklessly, and why not? The opportunity to fulfill his mission is finally at hand, yet he has stupidly allowed his rage, the fuel of his revenge, to be softened by a woman preacher. His only friend in this wilderness of souls has accused him of dreadful but true things, and Ollie feels the stirrings of remorse, yet he is compelled to continue. He fears that Jonathon may be right, that there is no end to the course that he is on, and no satisfaction to be derived from it, yet he doesn’t care. He is Frankenstein’s monster, assembled in some blasphemous workshop from these conflicting parts, horrified by his own ugliness, fearful of his profane purpose, possessing a terrible capacity for both tenderness and great cruelty, and driven at last by his own painful paradoxes to find and destroy his Creator. And he is powerless to stop.
He knows that he must battle on, but he also knows that if he does not act now, this evening, he may lose his resolve. Alice has proven to be a powerful antidote for his rage.
Carrying Alice’s copy of Midnight March to Freedom, he walks to the tabernacle tent, which is almost full. He sees Alice standing outside the main entrance, obviously looking for him. With a pencil plucked from his pocket he quickly writes a short note on the title page of the book, then finds a boy about to enter the tent and bribes him with a shiny coin to deliver the book to someone inside. Finally he approaches Alice, who looks at him brightly at first, then detects his turmoil.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she says honestly, pulling a shaft of straw from his hair and taking his arm. “You look like you’ve been wrestling with an angel.”
The gathering dusk has brought a chill. Alice’s hands warm him, make him remember other loving hands in other places at other times. He is comforted by her presence, but he knows it will only last for a short time. Already he mourns her loss.
Tonight will be very difficult for him.
Alice takes a deep breath, gulps the night air, and scans the magical landscape that surrounds them, a sight that has eluded Ollie in his distress. As if trying to pull him into the beauty of his surroundings, Alice smiles and continues to drink in with her eyes the near-mystical setting. Lamps, pine torches, fireflies and stars mingle into a light-filled otherworldly vision. The surrounding tents glow like moons, illuminated from within. The grounds are sprayed with the soft light of tree lanterns and the flickering blaze of fire altars, six-foot high platforms topped with earth and pine-knot bonfires that warm the fluttering leaves of overhanging trees. Like serpents in the moonlight, tree roots rubbed raw by the feet of the crowd seem to wriggle with a phosphorescent gleam. In this wild yet solemn night-scene anything and everything seems possible.
Alice leads Ollie into the tent. The air inside is heavily spiced with the woodsy scent of sawdust and freshly cut timber. Spruce boughs tied together as a furry green cross hang behind the rough-sawn pulpit. A piano with a slightly flat E above middle C softly plays a hymn intended to calm the incoming crowd, which unfortunately ignores the music in favor of their own bubbling stream of expectant laughter and friendly greetings. If one knew no better it would seem as though this were a reunion of one immense family.
Alice finds a spot on a bench twelve rows from the speaker’s platform “for the twelve apostles,” she says. The chairs on the platform are taken, and Ollie’s eyes center on the man to the right of the pulpit, Gordon Cranston. How many years has it been since this cowardly Judas had abandoned Anisa and Ollie for a handful of silver paid over the years? How long has Ollie waited for this moment? Gordon seems barely to have aged. He is still strikingly handsome, though perhaps ten pounds heavier, with a dab of silver in his hair.
Ollie is suddenly aware that his hands are shaking. He is nervous! His hunter’s heart is pounding; the long-awaited prey has finally stepped into the clear.
“Are you all right, Ollie?” Alice asks.
“Yes—just a bit excited.”
“I know what you mean. I always expect miracles.” But she is talking about something altogether different.
Ollie watches as a boy approaches Gordon with Alice’s copy of Midnight March to Freedom. Gordon smiles at the boy but is clearly puzzled as he takes the book and opens it to the title page on which is scrawled Ollie’s message in Farsi. Anisa is dead. I have come for you, it reads.
Ollie watches Gordon’s eyes widen then dart from left to right as if seeking out the author of the thinly veiled threat. Gordon is clearly shaken. As if praying, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Ollie surveys the tent and sees Jonathon squeezing into a seat in the fourth row. Suddenly the solemn piano begins to pound out a rousing song. Gordon and the others seated by him leap to their feet and begin clapping their hands, keeping time to the mesmerizing beat of the thundering bass chords. The audience rises almost in unison and within a few seconds several thousand voices begin to sing the words. The sopranos wail, the tenors harmonize, and the baritones beat out the stirring words:
You will see your Lord a-coming
On the resurrection morning,
While the band of music
Will be sounding through the air.
The song ends with cheers and hallelujahs, and the crowd settles into their hard benches once again. One by one the dignitaries on the platform stand and take turns thanking the crowd for coming, exhorting them, making announcements, leading a hymn, singing a solo, giving testimonies of how Jesus turned their sinful selves into sanctified temples of God just in time, for Judgment Day is right around the corner!
As the final speaker begins to introduce Gordon Cranston, the main event, a drunken man in soiled overalls staggers down the center aisle and begins to yell, “Gladys! Gladys, where are you? Get your damn butt outta this tent ya hear?”
Jonathon looks across the sea of penitents at Ollie, wondering if he had orchestrated this disruption. Standing at the pulpit, the speaker—a frail, boyish minister from a neighboring town—raises his hand and meekly invites the man to be quiet.
“Religious snake oil!” is the reply. The drunkard, a fierce bull of a man, begins to lurch toward the platform like a prosecuting attorney about to make his case. He launches into a loud and profane tirade about religious charlatans and the weak minds of those who are swayed by them. Unprepared for such an outburst, the speaker backs away from the pulpit. A woman in the audience, presumably Gladys, falteringly stands up as the drunkard passes her row and begins to sneak out, pausing at the back of the tent where she can make a quick escape if needed. All faces are turned toward the ranting drunk who slowly makes his way toward the pulpit.
Suddenly Alice stands and steps into the center aisle to intercept the tormenter. Surprised, he stops a few feet from her. Alice opens her arms as if to embrace him. His vaporous red eyes burn into her and he gestures as if to holler something at her but no words come out, just a raspy rattle. He tries again to speak but his words seem swallowed up by Alice’s outstretched arms. He turns to hurl angry words at the crowd but emits only a feeble screech. The tent is absolutely silent. The man grips his throat, terrified with the realization that his voice has been stolen. Again he tries to speak but only a strangled column of air escapes his throat.
Dumbfounded, the drunkard lumbers menacingly toward Alice. Ollie rises to protect her, but before he can step into the aisle the man falls into Alice’s arms weeping like a baby, his enormous hands limp at his side. Alice calmly strokes the back of the man’s wooly head, whispers something into his ear, and the man slumps to the ground as if felled by a musket sh
ot.
“As the prophet Isaiah wrote, ‘the LORD hath poured out upon you the spirit of deep sleep, and hath closed your eyes,’” Alice says, kneeling over the man. “And the wicked shall be silent in darkness; for by strength shall no man prevail.”
It takes five men to lift the fallen drunkard. As they carry the sagging body to the front of the tent, Alice stands and in a joyous voice says, “Did not Paul admonish us? He wrote ‘be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit, speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs…”
The piano begins to play Amazing Grace and three thousand voices join in song as Alice, her voice rising above the impromptu choir, finishes reciting the scripture: “‘making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ; submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.’”
As the song ends, the sleeping man is laid on his back before the first row of benches and Alice takes her seat next to Ollie.
“What happened?” Ollie asks her.
Alice does not answer; she is looking upward, toward heaven, silently mouthing words to some unseen presence.
A prayer, perhaps.
As if replying to Ollie’s question the boyish preacher, having courageously stepped back to the pulpit to lead the singing, confidently says, “It seems that God did not want our service to be interrupted by blasphemy.”
Hallelujahs fill the tent.
At last Gordon is introduced to the crowd. As he approaches the pulpit he is clutching the copy of Midnight March to Freedom as if it were a Bible. He stares out at the expectant audience and, glancing at the sleeping man, says, “Before Jesus ascended into heaven he spoke to his disciples saying, ‘These signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils.’ Sister Alice, God be with you.”
A chorus of Amens soars through the dusty air.
“The Apostle Paul wrote, ‘Behold, I show you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.’”
Glory! Hallelujah!
Gordon’s voice rises an octave as his eyes turn toward heaven and his right hand reaches out as if to take God’s hand. “‘For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord!”
A thousand rapt believers leap from their seats and raise their hands, shouting in celebration of the Great Truth.
Ollie notices that Gordon’s left hand still grips the book.
To quiet the rapturous crowd, Gordon closes his eyes and begins a prayer. Within seconds the tent is hushed. “Our dear Father in heaven,” he prays, “help us to prepare our hearts for the imminent return of your Son Jesus, and guide our thoughts in these final hours to be wholly consumed by your love and purpose for our lives. Help us to show the same spirit of love to those around us that Jesus showed to all humanity. Forgive us, Father, our sins, which are many, and help us to forgive those who have wronged us. In this time of great expectation, give us strength to endure the torments and ridicule of unbelievers as Jesus endured His persecutors. In the name of Jesus—may His triumphant return not find us asleep – Amen.”
Amen.
Gordon’s prayer, Ollie knows, was a thinly veiled appeal to him for forgiveness. He smiles smugly as Alice gently takes his hand. He is surprised at its warmth.
This would be a good time to confront Gordon in front of the entire assembly, Ollie thinks, but the touch of Alice’s hand restrains him. Soothes him. Remember this man’s betrayal, and how he ruined your life, Ollie tells himself. But he cannot bring his anger to a boil. Give it time, he decides. The pompous arrogance of this impostor will incite you soon enough. Give him time to dig his own grave from which there will be no resurrection.
“Until a few minutes ago,” Gordon says, “I was expecting to present to you the overwhelming evidence of the impending Second Coming of Christ, an event which has been awaited so longingly for centuries and which is now only months away. Yes, there is no doubt that in less than a year our Savior will return to fulfill His promise, praise God!”
Praise God!
“I was going to lay out the indisputable evidence for you so that you can begin to prepare yourselves for the wonderful and terrible upheaval to come… but I have changed my mind. You see, time is too short. The time of persuasion is over; it is now time for preparation. If you do not believe that Jesus is coming, I have no time for you, so you may as well leave right now.”
Gordon pauses. The audience begins to buzz. About fifty people rise, huffing and nodding their heads before heading for the exits, but the remainder—thousands of them—cling to their benches.
“This evening I have learned that my mission has been changed,” Gordon says, gripping the rough pulpit with one hand while he grips the book with the other. “From this moment it is my responsibility to get believers ready for the return of Jesus. There is so little time, my friends, and so much to do. But the hard work begins with our hearts, for God will not allow us to be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord so long as we harbor resentment and fail to forgive those who have wronged us. My friends—beloved of God—hear me on this. Jesus came the first time to show us how to love and how to forgive. How can we expect to be forgiven if we cannot forgive! Wives, I am talking about forgiving your husbands, and husbands your wives.”
Gladys, the wife of the raging man, begins to weep at the back of the tent and another woman embraces her.
Gordon continues. “Brothers, set aside your feelings of anger for the wrongs of your siblings, and daughters, forgive your parents their shortcomings. Neighbors, forgive your friends and acquaintances so that you may be forgiven, and let your forgiveness be known!”
Throughout the audience, people sob as they consider their unholy grudges.
“Are we not all deficient in some way? Have we not all wronged someone during our lifetime of struggle? Did not Jesus forgive his accusers and murderers by asking God to forgive them for they knew not what they had done? My dear friends, know of a certainty that we must make peace before we can find peace. And since we have all wronged someone, we must ask them for forgiveness, just as we ask God to forgive us our trespasses.”
Ollie listens to these words, confused by the apparent conviction of the speaker. This is not the arrogant and deceitful Gordon who had haunted the dark chambers of Ollie’s mind for so many years. This man, bearing the name of Gordon Cranston and garbed in the aging body of the traitorous missionary, cannot be Gordon, for no man could be so transformed. From the twelfth row Ollie can see tears in the eyes of the preacher. He can hear the wretched man’s plea as if it were a private conversation between the two of them.
“Only moments ago, God spoke to me,” Gordon continues. “His message was that tonight I must become His agent for change in your hearts. God’s messenger, I am quite sure, did not know that he was conducting God’s business this evening.”
Gordon holds the book to his chest. Ollie shudders at the implication that he is a messenger for a God whom he despises.
Alice sees the book and recognizes it as the copy of Midnight March to Freedom she had given to Ollie, a book originally loaned to her by Gordon. A book written by… by… Alice Chadwick. Chadwick. Oliver Chadwick. Ollie—Ali— The pieces come together in her mind. Gordon, a missionary to Persia. Ali, the heroine’s son abducted from his father and reared in London.
“Before I can begin to fulfill this sacred mission,” Gordon explains, “I must purify my own heart, for I have grievously wronged others in the past. I betrayed those I had come to deeply love through an act of such exquisite selfishness that my
own life became a penance for my sins.”
Alice turns to Ollie and can see the raw emotion in his eyes. In a horrifying instant she understands Ollie’s purpose in coming to the meeting and can see the future. Through the touch of Ollie’s hand she can feel the quivering demon of revenge awaiting its time.
Yes, she was sent here to help Ollie.
The warmth of Alice’s hand begins to move upward through Ollie’s arm and radiate into his chest and shoulders.
“I have learned that one of those whom I so gravely wronged is now dead,” Gordon says. “And so I must live my life without her forgiveness.”
Ollie watches the man as he seems to fight back tears. Is this an act? If so, it is a performance that Anísa would have admired.
“The other victim of my selfishness is among you tonight—perhaps filled with hatred for me and thoughts of revenge—and to you I now speak directly. The truth is, I deserve your retribution, but I beg for your forgiveness. Not that I should be left unpunished, but that you will free yourself from the prison of your passions. You see, my friend, I have been serving a sentence imposed by a much higher power.”
Ollie’s body is now penetrated by the soothing warmth of Alice’s healing touch, but even steeped in this narcotic balm his demons fight for survival. He cannot forget. He does not want to forgive.
Gordon turns to a boy in the first row; Ollie can only see the back of the boy, but he appears to be about twelve years old.
“In God’s infinite wisdom,” Gordon says, “He chose to punish me sweetly… in such a manner that I will never forget my transgressions. I would like to introduce you to my son.”
Gordon gestures to a woman of sixty who is seated next to the boy. She whispers into the boy’s ear, then walks with him to the platform and helps him up the three steps to the pulpit. The boy walks awkwardly and when he turns to face the audience displays the enlarged forehead, slanted eyes and distant gaze of a boy severely afflicted with a condition that will one day be called Down syndrome.
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